


Satisfaction

by allyoops



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cunnilingus, Degrading Praise, F/F, Inexperienced Victim, Lateral Misogyny, Manipulative Rapist, Misogyny, Object Insertion, Pussy Spanking, Shaving, Verbal Degradation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27846154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyoops/pseuds/allyoops
Summary: /satɪsˈfakʃ(ə)n/n.1. fulfilment of one's wishes, expectations, or needs, or the pleasure derived from this.2. the payment of a debt or fulfilment of an obligation or claim.
Relationships: MILF/Underage Camgirl Next Door
Comments: 8
Kudos: 118
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2020





	Satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harpalyke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harpalyke/gifts).



Kelly Mercer flicked through the files one more time before she shut off the screen to think.

That her husband harbored these proclivities was frankly unsurprising. Ken had always been a particular type of revolting that she had prepared to tolerate when she married him. The income, she told herself, would make up for it. But Ken’s income was no longer a certainty now that the HR complaints had grown too numerous for them to sweep under the rug, and most recently the shakeup at corporate had replaced Mr. Vickers, Ken’s old and entirely too understanding Good Ol’ Boy supervisor, with a brusque young woman who had very modern ideas about how much eye contact a lady should be expected to tolerate in the workplace.

“It wasn’t even their eyes I was looking at!” Ken had whined, while Kelly mentally catalogued their assets and tried to work out how much her prenup would permit her to pocket. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I’m all for feminism and shit, but now we can’t even _look_ at ‘em? What the hell!”

“Yes, dear, it's all very unfair,” Kelly said mechanically. A slight frown creased her carefully-made-up brow. She didn’t like the results of her math.

While Ken had fretted about his future with the company, Kelly turned a considering gaze on the study doorway; or, more specifically, on the computer tower sitting sleek and unobtrusive in the corner. Ken, she knew, was more confident than careful. If there were anything in his browsing history that could possibly give her an edge . . .

“Darling,” she said, “do you know what might take your mind off that silly girl from corporate? A nice weekend away in the city.”

Ken looked only vaguely interested at first, until Kelly added, “By yourself.”

He definitely perked up at that. She watched, amused, as vague suspicion then slowly clouded his gaze. He still thought she didn’t know about the other girls. It had always been mildly entertaining, the way he thought he could hide anything from her. She carefully recalibrated her amusement to register as gentle patience.

“I would love to go with you, of course, but I know I’d only be in your way! You don’t need me hovering at your shoulder, worrying about you.” She tidied his collar tenderly. “You need a nice boys’ weekend. Don’t you think? That way you can take a friend and . . . well, you can just have _fun_.”

She watched the pieces arrange themselves craftily in Ken’s head, and was satisfied. He’d call Michelle or Melissa or whatever her name was this week, and Kelly would pretend not to hear. He’d be gone until Sunday evening. That would be plenty of time.

Ken was so excited at the prospect of time away that he took Friday off to give himself an extra day in the city, and his report that work did not at all push back against this told Kelly she had no time to lose. She gave him until midmorning to get to the city before she started her search. One brief text, couched in terms of apologetic concern, to confirm he’d arrived at the hotel and she knew she was safe to begin.

His password was easy enough; he hadn’t changed it since before they started dating. His browsing habits were similarly careless. He hadn’t even cleared the history and his logins were still stored. Before long she’d amassed a tidy catalog of his viewing habits.

The girls in the videos were young, all of them, which she supposed was only to be expected. Nubile, doe-eyed creatures all, with long streaming hair. Brunette, usually, which was no surprise. The professional dye job she kept religiously touched up could not compete with the streaming masses of soft dark hair these girls had (on their heads, anyway; below the neck was a different story). Kelly cast a scornful eye over the collection, and sighed.

Nothing tasteful here, but nothing truly actionable, either. Irritated, she returned to the history and scrolled . . .

She paused.

There was an odd gap in the timeline. She studied the spacing, intrigued.

Saturday. She’d been at the salon. He had logged on, started off on one of his pay sites, but then . . . how curious. A blank. Then abruptly back on a pay site until shortly before she came home.

Her hand hovered over the keyboard a moment, considering, then she clicked on the address bar. It did not take long to scroll through the stored URLs, because of course it did not. Ken’s version of cleaning up was shoveling the dog shit off the rug but leaving the stain and stink behind.

(Kelly had told her sister they would NOT be watching the dog again. Ken she simply told she was allergic. He’d been annoyingly fond of the idea of a dog, and she thought she had better head that off in a hurry).

The website she called up, the one he had tried harder to hide than all the others, was . . . promising. Kelly’s eyebrows lifted as she scrolled. Amateur this, homemade that. Video quality suffered for it, but she supposed for some that could add to the appeal. These girls were as doe-eyed as the rest of them, but less polished and groomed. As often as not they were half out of frame, and some of the freeze-frame shots had them looking away to the side, as if taking instruction from some patient person sitting just out of view. She scrolled further, considering, wondering which of these exactly had drawn his eye, which would give her the satisfaction she deserved—then stopped.

She zeroed in on one frame in the corner, a close up shot of smooth, pale cheek and chin and big dark eyes. It was most of a face but not all of it, the obvious proximity of the girl one that came from her reaching around to the camera to turn it on. Once drawn by the sight, Kelly could not look away.

Ken’s eye, she thought, had almost certainly been drawn too. Because he _knew_ this girl.

They both did.

* * *

Ava dragged her feet walking home from the bus stop. Fridays were the _worst_. Friday was date night for Mom and Dad, so she had to babysit Alex and her parents wouldn’t even pay her for it, because apparently when it was family you were paid in gratitude or whatever. All her friends would be having fun and she’d be stuck at home with her little brother with not even twenty bucks to show for her time. Stupidly unfair. Her parents being so budget-minded had been the whole reason she’d had to start her side business in the first place.

Ava slowed down still further as she turned onto their street. Let Alex run ahead of her, yammering about some game his friends had told him to join them on, and tried to work out if she’d have enough time to do an extra show tonight.

Probably not. She couldn’t risk it when Alex was still awake. Sure he might stay focused on his game the whole time, but all it would take would be him walking in on her once, and . . . well. Ava didn’t like to even think about that.

She had slowed almost to a crawl, now. Alex was two house-widths ahead of her and the gap was widening considerably when she heard someone call her name. Turning on the heel of her sneaker, Ava saw Mrs. Mercer standing on her front porch.

“Me?” she said, sure she couldn’t have heard her right. “Did you—sorry, Mrs. Mercer, were you talking to me?”

Mrs. Mercer smiled. It was clearly her way of assuring Ava that she was patient in her understanding of teenage girls and their need to focus on whatever little world of their own had called them out of the real one for a time.

“I was,” she said. “I am sure your parents must be waiting at home, and I wouldn’t dream of holding you up, but I had hoped we could talk.” She glanced next door to where Alex was already stampeding up their walk.

“I have . . . well, I suppose you could say I have a job offer for you.”

Whatever Ava had expected, it hadn’t been this. A job offer? She thought of everything her parents had let drop over the years about the Mercers, and their money. The way her dad looked longingly out the window at Mr. Mercer’s sports car, and said it must be nice to be able to spring for an upgrade every year. Her mother was not so open in her envy, but all the same Ava had noticed how Mom put up her hand to self-consciously touch her ponytail whenever Mrs. Mercer waved a polite hello en route to her weekly session with her stylist. Sure, the Mercers might have lived on the same street as her family, but Ava knew they lived a very different kind of life.

They didn’t even have kids, so whatever Mrs. Mercer might want her for, it definitely wasn’t babysitting. Did they have pets? They didn’t seem like the type, but maybe it was fish or a lizard or something sleek and quietly exotic. Ava wouldn’t mind feeding fish. Whatever it was . . . spending money she could openly account for was always a good thing to have.

Ava quickly yelled Alex’s name, and told him to hang on.

“Mrs. Mercer wants to talk to me,” she said. “Can you tell Mom and Dad I won’t be in until—”

“Oh, no, dear,” Mrs. Mercer interrupted firmly. “I won’t keep your parents waiting. I am sure they will want to hear all about your day at school. Tomorrow will be time enough for us to talk. Say, about ten?”

Ten in the morning? Ava flinched. Ten was Dad’s regular squash game with Mr. Parker and Uncle Mike, then beers and lunch after that. Mom would be taking Alex to his practice, and that usually ran late. The house would be totally empty, which was why Ava had set ten as the usual time for her Saturday show.

“Uh,” she said, “ten won’t . . . ten won’t exactly work for me. Can we do eleven?”

Mrs. Mercer nodded.

“Yes,” she said, “I think we can work with that.”

Then she gave Alex a little wave, smiled at Ava, and stepped back inside her house.

* * *

Kelly took her time getting ready the next morning. She collected the necessary equipment first, because preparation came second nature to her at this point. Everything had to be neat and tidy, ready to go when Ava showed up. Then she sat down on the couch in the den, made sure the curtains were securely drawn, and called up Ava’s livestream on the TV.

She observed the girl with the critical eye of a woman who has done what she must to secure her position in life. Ken had not made much secret about the files he kept on the computer, the ones Kelly went looking for after the fact. They were nothing more than a few loose batches of video captures, clustered in a folder unimaginatively titled “Tax Returns” and carelessly saved in the same file tree as their _actual_ tax returns. He had certainly not limited himself to collecting only Ava’s broadcasts, but he had not been shy about his affinity for them, either. Fully eighty percent of his collection starred their wide-eyed little neighbor girl, with her shy, nervous giggle and full bottom lip.

How many times had he watched the girl already, dick in hand, while Kelly was off sweating precious inches off her waist, squatting her ass into that tight sculpted curve he was so fond of, and coloring her hair a shade that, she realized now, was almost the exact same as this baby-faced, gumdrop titted, undercooked snack from next door?

Hell, chances were he had not limited himself to jerking off to her live streams alone. Kelly had been so annoyed when Tim and Julie put that pool in last summer, but when she had predicted an ungodly amount of noise, kids shrieking and splashing at all hours, Ken had told her not to make a big deal over it.

“Kids need to have fun,” he’d said, which was very unlike him. But Ava had worn that little teal two-piece almost every day from the fourth of July to Labor Day, tummy taut and tanned between the two strips of fabric, hair streaming in a lush dark waterfall to her slender waist, so Kelly could see in hindsight why he might have chosen not to mind.

Ava, at the moment, would have done well to be wearing a two piece. To be wearing, in fact, anything at all. At least then she would have had _something_ on. Her bare body filled the screen in Kelly’s den, and Kelly, a glass of midmorning chardonnay in hand—because her husband was a fucking pervert, that was why; the least she deserved was a glass of wine—studied every inch of the girl’s naked, gawky form.

At the moment Ava was wagging her hindparts at the camera like she didn’t even know what they were for. No seduction, no finesse. Just some clumsy little fidgets any ten year old gymnast would know how to do, and have the decency to do it fully clothed. But her lack of technique did not deter her viewers; their numbers were climbing steadily even this late in the show.

 _Dogs_ , Kelly thought scornfully. Disgusting. Every one of them.

She watched, critically, as Ava responded to a suggestion on the side of the screen and carefully rubbed one finger around the mouth of her lightly-fuzzed pussy. Christ, did the girl not even shave? Kelly waxed herself bald as the day she was born because Ken said he couldn’t stand the sight of pubes, but he had no problem jacking off to this half-grown little slut with her baby tits and bubble butt who couldn’t even be bothered to buy a pink plastic Bic and tidy herself up a little.

Kelly downed the remnants of wine in one angry gulp and sat forward, staring at the screen.

“. . . put it inside, just yet,” Ava was saying shyly, apologetic. “It’s a little scary for me. I’m sorry. I hope you guys will understand.”

Most of them were surprisingly patient with her, Kelly noted, scanning the text as it scrolled. A few called her a tease, one told her she should quit whining and just get it over with, but the others assured her the sight of her first penetration would be worth the wait.

Sure, they would be patient with her online, Kelly thought cynically. But get the tart alone in a room, and how many of them would be able to resist?

Kelly decided she’d seen enough. She made sure the screen was set to record and got to her feet. She had a wine glass to wash, and a few finishing touches to put on her preparations. She wanted to be ready when Ava arrived.

* * *

Ava finished her show with a flush of satisfaction, and noted with a kind of disbelieving pride her total earnings from the hour. Sure, she couldn’t touch any of it yet—her parents refused to believe she needed a bank account, so she had nowhere to withdraw it to—but someday soon, it would be cash in hand and she could spent it however she liked.

Until then . . .

Ava’s thoughts turned with curiosity to Mrs. Mercer next door. What kind of job would it be?

She dressed in a hurry, mindful of how little time she had left now that she had chosen to do her show. Maybe she should have skipped it today, or cut it short, but it was kind of a habit now. And she liked seeing the money come in, reading the compliments everybody sent her. Even the mean ones, the ones who called her gross names and got mad when she wouldn’t do what they told her to with her body, they were a kind of exciting too. Because they _wanted_ her, and looking at her made them act that way. As long as they couldn’t actually find her, touch her, where was the harm?

She rang the Mercers’ doorbell just after eleven. Mrs. Mercer answered almost before the chime finished ringing; she must have been waiting, Ava thought, and felt guilty at the thought.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, when Mrs. Mercer smiled tightly in greeting. “I got—I was caught up in something at home. Homework.”

“Oh!” said Mrs. Mercer, as if the idea had not occurred to her. “Homework? Well. It must have been very important, to hold your attention like that. We had an eleven o’clock appointment, Ava. An interview. You should understand that when you have an interview, you really must not be late.”

But she stepped aside to let Ava in anyway, so Ava, blushing furiously, mortified to have prompted Mrs. Mercer to scold her, quickly slipped inside.

“I’m really sorry,” she said again, then stooped to remove her shoes when Mrs. Mercer cast a pointed look at the scuffed sneakers and the pristine little tray positioned carefully to one side of the door. She padded down the hallway in her sock feet, following Mrs. Mercer to a room at the very back of the house. Mrs. Mercer ignored her second attempt at an apology and indicated that Ava should sit on the couch.

Ava did.

“Um.” Ava squirmed, looking around. “You said something about a job?”

There was definitely no fish tank or lizard in this room. It was some kind of sitting room, with a TV hanging on the wall. She might have called it a den except it was more pristine than any den she had ever sat in. In truth, it was cleaner than any room in her house, even their dining room, where they only ate on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Not an ornament or piece of furniture looked out of place. The giant screen on one wall was black and shining, no smudges from fingerprints or anything of the kind. She was still looking admiringly at the screen when it flickered to life and the image resolved sharply into one of a naked body.

It took Ava one paralytic, soul-suspending moment to recognize the naked body as her own.

Those were _her_ breasts, _her_ bare backside pointed at the screen, her own vulva broadcast into the room, to Ava where she sat on the couch, and to—

Ava twisted around, trembling, clutching without purchase at the buttery-soft leather of the sofa, to see Mrs. Mercer holding the remote in her hand and looking down at her with that perfect, white, straight-toothed smile.

“Not your best angle, I think, dear,” she said gently. “Not when you have no technique to speak of. But that doesn’t seem to have bothered my husband, so I suppose I shouldn’t let it bother me.” She looked back for a moment to the screen, where TV-Ava’s fingers were hovering bashfully around her labia as she made her apology for being too frightened to push them in. She appeared to contemplate the image with some amusement before pausing the playback, freezing the picture of Ava’s fingertip shyly probing the crease of her vulva. It hung there on the wall of that pristine viewing room, pink and pixelated and obscene. Ava’s entire face felt like it was on fire.

Mrs. Mercer looked down at her then with a smile that was not very nice at all.

“Now, dear,” she said. “Let’s discuss what you’ll do to ensure that I don’t share this video with all of your nice little friends at school.”

And that’s when Ava got scared.

* * *

The look on the girl’s face was _priceless_. Kelly was genuinely entertained by the sight. Her eyes went wide and her mouth went still and small. That pink, perfect bottom lip gave one tiny quiver. Kelly sighed, faux-patient, and shook her head.

“Honestly, Ava. You really didn’t think nobody would ever find it, did you? Mr. Mercer has been watching you for _months_. I found the files on his computer.” She paused, considering. “Has he tried to fuck you yet?”

Ava’s mouth dropped open. Kelly, watching her, thought that was one expression the girl would do well to try out for her channel. There was no way any man seeing her mold her lips into that perfect, shocked O would not immediately want to shove his dick in it.

“Ava?” she prompted, when no audible response was forthcoming. “Did you hear me, dear?” She leaned down and spoke at some volume, enunciating every syllable. “Has my husband tried to fuck you yet?”

Ava, still mute, shook her head furiously. No.

“Well,” sighed Kelly, “that’s a shame. I need to divorce him, you see, and if he’d already fucked you it would have gone through like a shot. I thought it might be as easy as that. Pity for you it’s not, but you seem like a girl who’s up for a challenge.” She considered the frozen image of Ava’s pussy on the TV a moment longer, then gestured impatiently at the girl herself.

“All right, let’s get your clothes off. See what we’re working with.”

Ava clutched instinctively at the neck of her sparkly sweater. The kind of sweater girls wore in a climate that got cold but rarely got snow. It was fluffy and no doubt as soft as a cheap synthetic blend could be, dyed some indecisive color that was equal parts beige, blush and ivory.

 _Undeveloped_ , thought Kelly. Like Ava.

Well. She could work with raw material. Look what she’d been able to do for herself over the years. And she wasn’t done yet; not by a long chalk.

“Ava,” she said sternly, “I don’t think you understand how serious this is. Not only is what you have done quite frankly immoral and _very_ wrong, it’s also _extremely_ public. It would not take me more than a moment or two to share these videos with your parents, your school friends; anyone I choose. It’s bad enough you’ve been playing the slut for the benefit of men like my husband, but only think what the children at your school would say if they could hear you talk like that! What kind of influence would their parents think you were? And _your_ parents . . . well. They can’t be very concerned about you, or they would have figured out the disgusting things you were doing to yourself in your bedroom when they were away, but I am sure they will at least want to pretend to be concerned for appearances’ sake once I show them what I’ve found.”

“Oh no, Mrs. Mercer, no, please.” The keening terror came bubbling out of the girl then, as Kelly had been perfectly confident that it would. Ava’s eyes shimmered and swam with tears. “You can’t—please. No. What—what is it you want me to do?”

 _Good girl_ , Kelly thought, surveying the pleading posture Ava had adopted, probably entirely unconsciously. Legs tucked under her, up on her knees, hands knotted tight together on the back of the sofa as she lifted her chin to Kelly in supplication. Really, the girl had promise. Give her a few years and she might almost be more than just pretty. For now . . . Kelly considered, coldly, the sincerity of Ava’s plea.

“Well,” she said, as though she were reasoning her way to the conclusion on the spot, “I suppose since you have made my husband stare at that slutty cunt and opened him up to the possibility of felony prosecution, the very least you can do is give me the rest of what I need to get rid of him. You made this mess, so now you’re going to help me make it right.”

“Anything, Mrs. Mercer, I promise, I can . . . I can . . .” Ava struggled, clearly, to see her way through to a suitable resolution. “What can I do?”

“I already told you, dear.” Kelly’s smile cut, knifelike, across her face. “Strip.”

Ava hesitated a moment more, and Kelly let her. She could tell the difference between a balky girl who imagined a way out, and a child preserving the remnants of her dignity in the moment of surrender. Sure enough, Ava gave an adorable shiver and reluctantly, agonizingly, lifted her sweater over her head.

Underneath she was smooth and slim and not quite as pale as Kelly would have expected at this time of year. Though no longer as tanned as she had been in the summer, the lovely olive undertone to her skin gave her a subtle, glowing warmth. Kelly could not resist reaching out her hand to pass it, carelessly, over one bare shoulder.

“There,” she soothed, when Ava flinched at her touch, “you’re doing better already. Now the pants, dear. The rest will come later.”

So Ava removed her pants as well, and at Kelly’s pointed stare, divined that she was meant to fold both them and her sweater and place them in a tidy pile on the arm of the couch. Then she sat in bra and panties, simple cotton garments in mismatching shades of pink, and Kelly could not resist a remark.

“You didn’t keep the lace set?”

Ava had worn a matching teal lace bra and panty set for her video, and it had made her look easily three years older. Which was, Kelly suspected, why she’d worn it. Ava, flushed almost as pink as her bra, shook her head.

“My mom doesn’t know I have that,” she whispered. “I only wear it when she’s out. I hide it. Just in case.”

So there was some kind of brain in that little head, anyway. Just not quite enough of one to keep her from this predicament. Kelly nodded with grudging respect.

“Well. I won’t tell if you won’t.” She gave the girl another once over, then stood aside and nodded in the direction of the stairs. “Up you go, dear. My bedroom is at the end of the hall. I want you to go into the master bathroom, and I will meet you there.” She let Ava process the instruction, watched her struggle with the decision, then visibly succumb to the necessity of doing as she was told. Kelly’s smile widened.

“If it helps you at all, just think of it this way: the second part of your interview has begun.”

* * *

Ava climbed the stairs on rubbery legs. This was not happening. Could not be happening. A slight draft from some hidden air exchange blew across her bare knees and shoulders in gentle, chilly contradiction, as if the breath of Mrs. Mercer herself had chased her up the stairs to set the record straight. It _was_ happening, and Ava did not see any way to stop it.

She found the bedroom as Mrs. Mercer had said. The double doors stood grandly ajar. Ava tiptoed in, feeling even more like a little girl in this strange master bedroom than she did when she slipped into her parents’ room. This room was bigger than Mom and Dad’s, with an actual sitting area and furniture that had not been gnawed on by midnight toddler visitors or banged up by kids charging through with toys and friends and other encumbrances that made their parents yell and chase them out.

Everything here was so quiet. And clean. And still.

Ava sidled around the edge of the room to the doorway that led to the master bath. It looked like a spa, like something out of a magazine, done up in tones of putty and soft greeny-grey, all muted matte-finish tile with fluffy matching towels. There was a free-standing ceramic egg of a tub and a huge glass-walled shower with what looked like a half-dozen different knobs and nozzles and showerheads bristling from the wall like the controls of a space ship.

Ava stood in the middle of the floor, in the middle of a whole new world, overwhelmed. She was still standing there when Mrs. Mercer found her, clucked her tongue in exasperation and gestured impatiently in the direction of the tub.

“Take your things off and run some water,” she said. “We’re going to tidy you up.”

“Tidy . . .” Ava echoed, then trailed off and moved forward in a daze.

The water that came out of the tap was instantly, immediately, blistering hot. She jerked her hand back from the preliminary check and spun the gleaming dial halfway to cold. The moderated temperature was much more to her liking, and Ava was still enjoying the feel of it running over her hand when a stinging slap to her left buttock brought her back to the present with a jolt.

“Are you falling asleep on me?” Mrs. Mercer snapped. “Take off those things. They’re satisfactory for the jailbait crowd, I’m sure, but we’re going to grow you up today. Don’t make me ask you again.”

Ava stumbled out of her lingering scraps of clothing, face flaming as hot as the water from the tap. Then, at Mrs. Mercer’s impatient nod, she lowered herself into the tub as the water began to swirl and pool in the bottom.

“We don’t need very much,” Mrs. Mercer said, studying the depth with a critical eye. “Normally I’d have sent you into the shower to do it yourself, but I don’t trust you to know how, and I certainly don’t want your wet hair all over my pillows. Yes, there,” as a few inches rapidly accumulated thanks to the incredible speed of the water from the tap, “that’s enough. Turn it off.”

Ava did as she was told and sat, shivering, in her child’s-depth bath. Ordinarily she would have been delighted with such a tub. It held her like a jewel in a box, so big and abounding in space. The edge of it came all the way up to her neck. She could have floated in it, if she chose. But Mrs. Mercer, turning around from the counter with a towel, metal canister and disposable safety razor in hand, clearly did not have time to fill the tub and let Ava float.

“What . . .” Ava blinked at the grooming implements Mrs. Mercer carried over to the tub. “What’s that for?”

“Do you shave your legs and underarms?” Mrs. Mercer asked bluntly. Ava, sensing where this was going, blushed but managed a nod. “Good. Then you should understand that when hair grows on other parts of you, it’s much tidier to remove that, too.”

Ava was not sure she agreed. Some of her regulars even seemed to like that she hadn’t shaved herself _there_. They complimented her on it, and told her they liked how she was so unaffectedly natural. But someone like Mrs. Mercer, she supposed, might not be as into the natural look. Certainly there wasn’t much left about her that looked very natural. It made sense, Ava decided, that Mrs. Mercer would want her to shave. Only . . .

“I don’t know how,” she whispered, looking down. “It—what if it slips? I’ve cut myself on my leg before, what . . . what if I cut myself _there_?”

Mrs. Mercer sighed, transparently exasperated.

“Oh for God’s sake. Here.” She sprayed a generous puff of gel-like foam into her left palm, and gestured that Ava should spread her legs. “Get your ass up. I can’t reach you down there.”

So Ava was forced into a modified bridge position in the tub, hips lifted and crotch presented to Mrs. Mercer for her treatment. The cold shaving cream slapped down wet on her vulva, and Mrs. Mercer rubbed it around with a kind of irritated impatience at being reduced to this menial task.

“Honestly,” she muttered, “if I had this little self respect when I was your age . . . look at you! Hairy as—well. No matter. We’ll fix that.” Her hand dipped lower, and slicked the remnants of the cream into the vee between Ava’s thighs, coating her labia. “Hold _very_ still, or I won’t be responsible for what happens if it slips.”

Ava trembled, as much with exertion as fear, but she held the bridge.

The blade snicked raspily over her skin, sharp in its newness, effective at its job. It was not the kind of razor that could really be much reused, but for its first use on Ava’s first growth of hair it more than sufficed. She watched, shaking, as Mrs. Mercer devoted herself to shaving Ava’s most intimate area as smooth and clean as the day before she’d first noticed her hair had started to grow.

“There,” said Mrs. Mercer, standing back, breathing hard. “That’s much better.” She studied her handiwork with fixed, intense triumph. “Don’t you agree?”

Ava lowered herself into the water to rinse off the last traces of shaving cream and inspect the result. She wasn’t sure. It was bare, certainly. Naked and smooth. It felt strange and a little uncomfortable, but Mrs. Mercer seemed proud of herself and she was looking at Ava like she was waiting for thanks, so Ava obliged in a shaking voice.

“Thank you, Mrs. Mercer. It looks much . . . barer, now.”

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Mercer said calmly, dropping the shaving implements in the little garbage can. “I’m happy to help. After all, no man wants to eat pussy and wind up with hairs in his teeth, don’t you agree?”

Ava stared.

“I don’t know. Nobody’s ever eaten my—nobody’s done that, before.”

“Of course not. Why would they, when it looked like it did? But now that it’s all cleaned up, I’m sure your audience will be lining up to offer. Speaking of which,” she she indicated the bedroom with a casual flick of her hand, “I’ll need you to dry off and go to the bed now, dear. We should get this underway as quickly as possible. I want to be finished before your parents get home.”

* * *

Ava was shockingly biddable, Kelly thought. Perhaps that’s what came of learning to take instruction from scores of strangers telling you how to perform on cam. She barely gave a query, much less a protest, when she learned Kelly wanted her on the bed. One sharp word and she subsided into mute obedience once more, drying her body with the towel offered and padding damply across the floor, into the master.

Kelly had cleared away most of the topmost layers of pillows before joining Ava in the bathroom, which meant all that remained to do was direct the girl to arrange herself on the pillows. She watched Kelly approach with a wide-eyed, hypnotized stare that honestly . . . well, if Kelly were being entirely honest with herself, she found it a little arousing. The girl’s steady, frightened attention was quite alluring. It gave her a sense of power and the ability to wield it openly that she had not felt in a very long time, if ever.

“Now,” she said, almost gently, or at least gently for her. “Let me explain what I need you to do. In exchange, if you do it well and do exactly as I tell you, I will not betray your secret to your friends and family. No embarrassing Christmas dinners with your grandparents staring at you over the turkey, wondering how their innocent little granddaughter grew up to be such a filthy whore. No nasty schoolboys on the bus telling you to pull up your skirt and give them a free show because they know you like showing off so much. Just you and me, Ava. Girls together. Nobody else will ever have to know.”

Ava nodded, charming in her desperation.

“Yes, Mrs. Mercer,” she said tremulously. “Please. Tell—please tell me what to do.”

Those words . . . God. They went right to Kelly’s cunt, but their impact was not exclusively there. It was more than that. Arousal was an insufficient word to describe what Ava’s plea made Kelly feel. It didn’t _cover_ enough. Arousal was a name for a thing that was sexual only. This? The sight of the girl lying flat on her back on Kelly’s bed, her slender body barely making a dent in the matelassé coverlet, begging Kelly to give her instruction and showing every sign of readiness to obey? This was something better. Something more. This was power, pure and sexy, and Kelly _liked_ the way it felt.

Kelly did not like very much, but she knew she liked the feeling of this.

“We’re going to give you some experience, dear,” she said calmly. Almost gently, for Kelly. “When I accuse my husband of cruelly violating our poor little neighbor girl, it will be a much more difficult sell if she has never experienced any violation to speak of.”

Ava’s eyes flashed wide, watching Kelly move to the side of the bed and perch herself decorously on the edge.

“Your—Mr. Mercer? You’re going to say I did . . . things? With him?”

“See, now, that’s part of the problem,” Kelly sighed. She trailed one hand, light and gentle, up Ava’s leg from the knee. “How can I expect them to believe me when the poor little girl he’s meant to have corrupted can only call the things he did to her _things_? You need a more convincing vocabulary, Ava. You need _experience_.” Her hand found the bare, soft pussy she had so recently shaved. She stroked her handiwork, enjoying the way Ava’s face scrunched and twisted uncomfortably in response. “I’m going to provide that.”

“O-kay,” Ava said, the word breaking on the inhale. “What—Mrs. Mercer, that’s—what are you—”

Kelly watched, delighted, as Ava struggled to reconcile her need to be obliging with her open desire to pull away. She did not intensify her touch, but neither did she ease up. Rather she petted Ava’s pussy lightly all through her discomfort, until she could see in the slacking of tension around the girl’s eyes and mouth her determination to bear it.

“Very good,” she said softly. “You see? Nothing to be concerned about. I’ll help you get used to it before we go further. You should know that a man would not have been _nearly_ so considerate of your needs, Ava. He would be halfway through fucking you by now.”

She marked, with pleasure, the girl’s discomfort at the word _fucking_ coming from a grown up’s mouth. So casual and dirty. Ava would have whispered it to her friends, perhaps, but hearing a Nice Adult speak so coarsely was a struggle to compute. Well, Kelly was here to help her, and no mistake.

“Now,” she said, “first lesson. This,” she split the cute little labia with one casual flick of her fingernail. Ava writhed adorably at the near-intrusion, and Kelly laughed, imagining how much further they had to go and how Ava would be writhing by then. “What do you call this, dear?”

“Um.” Ava licked her lips. Her gaze flicked nervously up to Kelly, then back to fixate on the ceiling. “My vagina.”

“Yes. Well. Technically correct, but we can do better than that.” Her fingertip circled the general vicinity of Ava’s clit, explorative. “I’ll call it your pussy, of course, but if we’re trying for a convincing sell that you have been with _Ken_ , I am afraid you’ll need to be ready to call it your cunt.”

Not a totally foreign word to Ava, it seemed. Her cheeks got bright pink at the sound.

“Well?” Kelly prompted, and tapped the girl’s vulva expectantly. “What do we call it, Ava?”

“C-cunt,” Ava whispered.

“Mmm?” Kelly said. “Little louder please, dear.”

“Cunt,” Ava squeaked, then cleared her throat and tried again. “It’s my cunt, Mrs. Mercer.” With greater confidence. “My cunt.”

“What a dirty whore mouth you have, dear,” Kelly said, and slapped the girl’s labia with a spiteful palm. Ava yelped and reached to shield herself with her hands, but appeared to think better of it and redirected her hands to rest on her tummy instead. Good, Kelly thought. Untrained, yes, and annoyingly innocent, but not entirely stupid. She had wondered, before, but she thought Ava was actually showing a lot of promise on most fronts. She rewarded her for taking the slap so nicely with a gentle rub on the same spot.

“You’ll need to learn to take a little pain, Ava,” she said. “Ken likes to be rough. It wouldn’t be believable if you couldn’t tell them he’d spanked your pussy. Your ass as well, I’m afraid, though for that he would use a belt, which I think would do better as a _second_ lesson than a first.” Her hand stole around to clutch cruelly at the little globe of flesh that was Ava’s left ass cheek. “Not a lot here to spank, is there?”

Ava squirmed, a flush of misery rising from her collarbones to color her face a deeper, darker red.

“Mrs. Mercer, please.”

“Mmm,” said Kelly, pretending to misunderstand. “Well, one can’t fault your manners, I must say.” She considered the girl’s pussy, and came to a decision. “We’re going to be a little rough with you today, belt or not, so it’s better I do something to help get you ready. Spread your legs, dear, I need to fit between them.”

Ava looked at her in a kind of blank panic, but still, to Kelly’s delight, spread her legs without protest. Really, she was almost _obedient_. Kelly had not imagined what a rush it would be, to have such an obliging little treat of a teenager spreading her legs in answer to Kelly’s own demand. This, she thought, must be the appeal of the child’s shows. The privilege to command her body into whatever contortion the viewer desired, and to see her so eager to please.

Delighted with her own discovery, Kelly settled in on her elbows between Ava’s legs and applied her mouth to the smooth, soft skin of the girl’s pussy. Ava gave a strangled yelp, and her thigh muscles twitched.

“Mrs. _Mercer_!” she gasped, and Kelly’s own cunt gave a responsive twitch.

“Good girl,” she heard herself say throatily. “There’s a good girl, Ava. Just hold still.” Then she lowered her head again and lapped a long, slow line up the split seam of the fresh little peach. Ava writhed in a quiet frenzy of embarrassment, but otherwise took it well. She brought her leg up once or twice when Kelly bore down, but it was more a reflex than genuine effort to escape. Nevertheless, the second time it happened Kelly gave a warning pinch. Ava whimpered then lay still.

“Ken wouldn’t do this, most times,” she said conversationally, drawing back to admire the gleaming surface of Ava’s cunt. The dark inner lips had ever so slightly unfurled, and Kelly was oddly proud of herself for having provoked such a response. “But what he _would_ do is easier to take if you’re ready for it, so I thought I’d be generous.”

She paused, expectantly. When the only sound she heard was Ava’s breathing, shallow, damp, she frowned. A slap on the girl’s pussy made her yelp and buck and twitch.

“Say thank you, Ava,” Kelly said sharply, and Ava gave a thin sob.

“Thank you Mrs. Mercer,” she whimpered. Kelly, unsatisfied, slapped again.

“Thank you for what?”

Ava’s tears were trickling down the sides of her face but she still managed to find the entirety of her manners and perform the necessary gratitude.

“Thank you for licking my pussy, Mrs. Mercer.”

Kelly nodded, pleased, and set her palm firmly to the gentle swell at the very top of the girl’s naked sex. She experimented with a few rhythms before she found the one that made Ava’s eyes go wide and distant, and then settled in to apply it with a vengeance. Fingering her in tandem with the stimulation would, Kelly knew, almost assuredly have brought the girl to orgasm quicker, but Kelly had a nice manicure she wasn’t about to ruin in this slut’s cunt. She did enjoy it, though. The look of wonder and dismay on Ava’s face as her little pussy betrayed her was divine. Kelly imagined her softest flesh spasming frantically around nothing at all, the poor girl desperate and empty and aching for cock.

 _‘Too shy to put her fingers inside herself’ my ass_ , Kelly thought cynically, watching Ava come down from her orgasm still distant and dreamy. It was a moment or two before she’d recovered herself sufficiently to look at Kelly and stammer, shy and surprised, “Th-thank you for making me . . . making me orgasm, Mrs. Mercer.”

God, even _that_ got Kelly wet. The manners were an unexpected bonus, she supposed, when it came to debauching nice little girls from the suburbs.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” she said, as polished and gracious as anybody who did the usual amount of hostessing for obligatory work dinners and associated functions. “This next part, I think, will be a lot less fun, but you’re going to be very mature for it, aren’t you, Ava?”

The fear was back in Ava’s face, tightening the slender cords of muscle in her neck and making her eyes stand out wide and dark in her little heart-shaped face. She nodded timidly, but tracked with hyper vigilance Kelly’s calm progress to the small collection of toys she had assembled on the dresser.

She considered, then reluctantly discarded the idea of the one she had bought herself recently. Still in the package, it was markedly larger than Ken’s own cock, which was why Kelly had been drawn to it in the first place. But Ava was going to have a hard enough time taking the one that was of a size with him, and there seemed no point in risking her panic reaching a point where she was even more scared of penetration than the threat of complete and total exposure. So Kelly, magnanimous in her understanding of the trial for the girl that still lay ahead, chose a vibrator first, and tucked the proto-cock Ava would also have to suffer discreetly behind the shelter of her skirt as she walked back to the bed where the trembling teenager lay.

“Now,” she said kindly, or what she imagined _kind_ might sound like under the circumstances, “we’re going to try to make this as easy for you as possible. And to return the favor, you will spread your legs as wide as you can and not fight back.”

Ava looked positively panicked at the sound of this, but after a moment’s open trepidation, she did as she was told. Fawn-like legs parted as wide as she could coax them, and her spit-slicked pussy gaped pink and inviting for Kelly’s inspection. She knelt at once to examine the goods.

“Oh my goodness you’re wet as a whore, aren’t you, Ava?” she said conversationally, and ran an exploratory fingertip around the girl’s labia to test it out. “You won’t have any trouble with this at all.”

She put the vibrator, one of a pair she had ordered but not yet found time to try out, to the soft, plump swell of the girl’s cunt. Not directly on her clit but to one side, letting her feel the buzz and thrum at one of the lower levels first, before, after some deliberation, Kelly adjusted the setting to a more irregular rhythm than that. This one had a buzz, a pause, and then a deep, lower throb that she could see at once on Ava’s face reached exactly the right part of her to bring the little girl over the edge. It took only four cycles at that setting before her thigh muscles twitched and spasmed and she came again, weeping now, hands clutching alternately at her cunt and face as she tried to cope with the cruelty of Kelly’s pressing the instrument continually on her clit even as she became far to sensitive to handle it.

“No, Mrs. Mercer, no, please, it it’s too much Mrs. Mercer, please, God, I _can’t_ —”

Kelly ignored her for two more cycles until she had wrung from the child a high, thin shriek. At last she set it aside and gave her cunt a much harder crack with her hand, to compensate for any deadening of sensation the vibrator might have caused.

“Were you telling me to _stop_? Why you ungrateful little cunt! Who the fuck do you think you are? The _nerve_ of you! Fucking begging for it, then think you can take it back? Like hell! I _gave_ you what you asked for. All through your shows I saw you, shaking this useless cunt at every man who watched. Wanting them to touch you and stick their fingers in you and make you come, and here you are pretending that you never did! Do you think you’re better than me? Is that it? You think you can make my husband _want_ you, then pretend to be upset when I decide to _take_ you? Fuck that! You’re just another teenage whore. You’re younger and dumber and certainly not _better_ than me. Did you really think that you were?”

Ava stared at her in open terror, and finally found the nerve to shake her head, just once.

“No, Mrs. Mercer, I never . . .” Her eyes filled with fresh tears. “I’m sorry.”

Kelly nodded, mollified.

“Not yet,” she said, “not yet, you’re not sorry. But you believe you are, so it’s a start. As for being _really_ sorry,” she palmed the dildo she had chosen for this particular occasion, a knobbly-textured glass one that would give no quarter in the pursuit of its job, and pressed it to the slick entrance of Ava’s virgin cunt, “don’t worry. You will be.”

* * *

Every nerve ending in Ava’s body hummed and screamed. She wanted to curl up into a little ball on the bed and wait for the world to go away, but Mrs. Mercer wouldn’t let her. Mrs. Mercer would hurt her if she tried. Ava knew that, just like she knew that her friends would never talk to her again and her mom and dad would be so upset if Mrs. Mercer told them what she knew. If word got out about Ava’s shows, Ava’s whole life would change.

So she had to do this. She had to let Mrs. Mercer touch her and lick her and slap her between her legs—her _cunt_ , Ava reminded herself, dutiful even in silence. Then Mrs. Mercer could get her divorce and go away, and Ava would be left alone.

Eventually.

For now, Mrs. Mercer would not leave her alone. She was pressing something to the outside of Ava’s pussy, pressing it _hard_ , and Ava longed to squirm free. She dragged it up and down the wetness there, soaking it, pushing it in—Ava shrieked. Mrs. Mercer, pausing with the very tip of the hard glass thing barely lodged inside Ava, sighed with more performance of suffering patience than patience itself.

“Ava,” she said, “I am really being _very_ gentle, you know. If this were Mr. Mercer he’d be halfway up inside you by now, and no doubt calling you difficult for not being able to take him all at one go. Is that what you want me to do? Force your little cunt open with this whether you’re ready or not?”

“No,” sobbed Ava, squirming helplessly on the point of her own impalement, “no, Mrs. Mercer, I promise it’s not. Only—only please, please, it _hurts_.”

“Yes, I know,” Mrs. Mercer sounded as if she were acknowledging some kind of simpleton who had told her, as they stood outdoors together in a deluge, that it was raining now. “That really doesn’t matter. You need to take it anyway. Then, when his lawyers ask you what it was like, you can tell them.” She bore down again on the glass cock with such terrible, relentless pressure and determination. “Tell them it hurt.”

The glass dildo split Ava’s pussy and made her shriek. Mrs. Mercer worked it patiently, in and out, in and out, forcing her to accommodate the girth, then the length, then the girth again and so on, until at last, by her own detached report, some three or four inches of the thing were lodged firmly inside.

“It’s a poor showing,” she told Ava frankly, her hand returning to Ava’s clit. Ava wept freely at the stretch and burn of her cunt around the thing inside it while Mrs. Mercer rubbed her there. “He’d have forced the rest in, and I plan to, but no reason not to make it a little nicer to take. There we go,” as she found that place that made Ava’s clit hum and throb, “that’s a good girl.”

Ava wanted to come. She also wanted _not_ to come, because she didn’t like the way Mrs. Mercer had treated her the last time that she had. She didn’t like being slapped and called a slut and a whore. Even the men on her show who sometimes used those words weren’t there to say them to her face, and they couldn’t touch her, either. Couldn’t make her hurt the way Mrs. Mercer did. Most of them were even nice, telling her how pretty she looked and how much they loved her body and promising what good care they would take of her if they were there. Mrs. Mercer didn’t do any of that, but Ava supposed it made sense. If Mrs. Mercer was angry Mr. Mercer thought Ava was pretty, she might not want to say so herself.

Still, she liked Mrs. Mercer rubbing her like that. She liked the way Mrs. Mercer called her a good girl for getting all tight and trembly in the sensitive place in the very top of her cunt. She wanted to make Mrs. Mercer happy, to hear her say good girl again, so she lifted her abused cunt, with its unwelcome glass intruder, to make it easier for Mrs. Mercer to reach. To her delight, this made Mrs. Mercer smile.

“What a good little whore you are, Ava,” she crooned, stroking Ava in tandem with her praise. “What a _natural_. Oh my goodness look at this slutty little cunt of yours, so greedy for more.” Her pats became little slaps, smart and stinging. Ava whimpered, and Mrs. Mercer laughed. “She likes that, does she? Stupid little slut likes her slutty pussy spanked.”

Ava shook her head, denying that she did, wanting Mrs. Mercer to understand, but before she could clarify, before she could explain, Mrs. Mercer slapped her directly on her throbbing clit and Ava _came_.

Cunt rolling and clutching and clamping with pleasure at the cock-like thing inside it, the thing Ava didn’t want. Wet and slick and gushing desire at the stinging impact she hated, the way Mrs. Mercer slapped her even while she came, like it wasn’t enough, like she was doing it wrong, like she was doing any of it herself at all.

“Mrs. Mercer,” she sobbed, “Mrs. Mercer please don’t—”

But Mrs. Mercer just slapped her there and Ava came _again_ , and in the depths of despair and throes of her pleasure she knew it was no use. Mrs. Mercer would never believe her now. Ava would never convince her that three orgasms had been a lie, and her body wasn’t made for this, her cunt didn’t live for this, being full and abused and taking it so good, so grateful, even while Ava herself sobbed and begged to stop.

So Ava stopped. Stopped begging, anyway. Just lay there instead, legs splayed like she was was ready to take it, and stared dazedly at the ceiling while Mrs. Mercer claimed the fruits of her labor and pushed the glass dildo the rest of the way inside. And Ava’s cunt opened up to take it, just like it was made to do. She felt the terrible hard bulge of the cockhead-shaped thing at the very back of her, the depths of her, and she felt it drag and bump along the softness of her insides, the place nobody had touched before today, before right now. Mrs. Mercer drew it out, then thrust it in. Drew it out, thrust it in, over and over and over . . .

Ava came again, quietly, a smaller orgasm like an afterthought, an insult to her denial and her efforts to refuse.

She shut her eyes against the truth of it, her rebellious pleasure, and let Mrs. Mercer use her cunt.

“That’s a good girl,” Mrs. Mercer said, almost gently. “Not very much fun, is it?” She patted Ava’s face with her hand, halfway between a slap and a caress. “Not even for little whores who like their cunts filled.”

Ava’s tears trickled at that. She shook her head.

“No,” she whimpered. “It’s not.”

“And it’s even more difficult now,” Mrs. Mercer reflected, “because I won’t come inside you. Mr. Mercer would do that, you know, and you might not _like_ it but then at least it would be over. Problem is, I’m not fucking you myself; not really. It’s not as if this were truly my cock. So I can just sit here and fill you all day and you’d have to take it, because I can’t actually come myself, you see; I could simply keep going.”

She paused, like she was waiting for Ava to step into the gap. To beg her to stop, or suggest some way she could end it, or offer . . . something. Offer what? Ava, longing above all else to have Mrs. Mercer remove the terrible glass cock in her cunt before she came _again_ , cast about desperately for something useful to do.

“Could . . . could I make you come?” she suggested, a forlorn little whisper without much hope. But to her surprise Mrs. Mercer actually _smiled_. She loved the idea!

“Oh, you clever little girl,” she cooed, and put her hand up to gently cup Ava’s chin. “What a very good idea. Yes, Ava, you know what? I really think you can.”

* * *

  
  


Kelly slipped her panties off with trembling hands. Ava did not see. Ava was lying spread-eagle on the bed, glass dildo wedged up her cunt, staring silently at the bedroom ceiling. Kelly found the sight of her submitted to her own use so arousing, she doubted she’d last very long. She applied herself to the act of positioning her cunt over Ava’s face with much care, her back to the headboard, straddling Ava’s head so she could face the girl’s taut, smooth tummy and her freshly-bared, mid-fuck cunt.

Her skirt puddled around Ava’s head, tenting the child in a prison of Kelly’s own pleasure. She knelt just above her face, hovering carefully on well-practiced thighs, thinking that if squats were more commonly arranged like this she wouldn’t be nearly so reluctant to do them.

Ava, at Kelly’s instruction, confirmed she could see her pussy and reach it with her mouth.

“Good,” Kelly panted, “that’s . . . good. Now your mouth, Ava. Use your tongue. Do just as I did for you, make me come like a good girl, and I can finish using your cunt.”

Ava licked with a kind of desperate hope that was arousing on a level Kelly had not previously even known existed. The girl’s desperation to please, coupled with her longing to finally be free of the cock Kelly had stuffed inside her, gave her a tongue a life of its own. Frantic, with minimal finesse, she lapped greedily at Kelly’s vulva. Kelly tolerated the poor aim with good grace, lowering her cunt and elongating her body over Ava’s so she could reach the end of the glass dildo and resume her rhythm as Ava found hers.

Ava responded very well to Kelly’s guidance, adjusting speed and location when instructed until her tongue found Kelly’s clit and she devoted herself to its service. Lapping with pathetic desperation, giving a muffled squeal whenever Kelly gave the dildo a thrust that was particularly calculated in its cruelty, then returning herself to her task with renewed desperation to have it all done.

Ken had eaten Kelly’s pussy exactly twice since the day they had married, and he would have done well to take lessons from Ava.

“Good girl,” Kelly growled, feeling the telltale pressure build. “Right there. Keep going, Ava. Don’t stop. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Ava did not stop. Could not, maybe, stop. Her entire world was reduced to the flesh Kelly pushed against her mouth, riding the sweet little face with mounting aggression, grinding against the girl’s chin and using the varied topography of her features to frot against with mounting desperation of her own. She thrust frantically with her hand, forcing the dildo into the girl with increasing aggression, forcing Ava in turn to apply herself properly to the task of bringing Kelly to the brink. Kelly knew she’d found the girl’s breaking point when Ava started to sob against her pussy, muffled pleas, garbled cries of Kelly’s name, and general cries and wails of protest too otherwise unintelligible to discern.

All of it, protest, petition, and panic all, made with slick-soaked lips pressed flush to the flesh of Kelly’s cunt.

Kelly came.

She dropped forward as she did, spasming, and barely maintained contact with Ava’s mouth and chin but the girl pursued her gamely, understanding her duty, devoted to her role as Kelly had explained it. She was to lick Kelly’s cunt until Kelly told her to stop, and that’s what she would do.

“Good girl,” Kelly said faintly, before the second orgasm found her. She fell silent again, grunting and grinding her way through it, until that, too, was done, and she consented at last to roll sideways and let Ava breathe freely.

Then, because the girl had surely earned it, Kelly patted her pussy in reward and said it again.

“Good girl.”

It was only when she slid the dildo free from the depths of the battered little cunt and saw the fresh slick glistening at the yawning pink entrance that she realized Ava had come again, too.

“What a _very_ good little slut you are, Ava,” Kelly cooed, and smiled.

* * *

Ava lay patient and still on the bed until Mrs. Mercer gave her permission to get up.

“Go get dressed,” Mrs. Mercer said, with a dismissive flick of her hand. “Wait downstairs. I need to prepare you for what will happen next.”

“Then I can go home?” Ava asked. She hated how small her voice sounded, but Mrs. Mercer didn’t seem to notice.

“We’ll talk,” was all she said. “Go on, now. I don’t want you staring at me while I change.”

So Ava collected her undergarments from the floor of the master bath and fled, giving Mrs. Mercer her privacy. She paused to put them on in a little alcove she found in the upstairs hall, sharing the narrow space with a pedestal that held a single piece of art. The modern sculpture was comprised of fluid lines and vacant spaces, fashioned as far as she could see from a single piece of polished gray stone. It was beautiful and clever and cold.

Her bra and panties safely in place, her dignity in tatters on the Mercers’ bedroom floor, Ava stumbled downstairs to collect her remaining clothes, put them on, and sit down shaking on the couch in the same room where Mrs. Mercer had broadcast this morning’s show. The performance she had given then seemed like a lifetime ago. Something private, safe and fun she had been able to explore in the seclusion of her bedroom, all blown up everywhere across the bedspread where Mrs. Mercer had licked her to orgasm and used a glass dildo to take her virginity.

Ava wrapped her arms around her legs and hid her face behind them. She struggled not to cry. She was struggling still when Mrs. Mercer’s voice cut through the silence, chilly and amused.

“You’re not going to pretend you didn’t enjoy that, I hope.”

Ava lifted her face to find Mrs. Mercer, freshly made up and wearing a trim pair of slacks instead of her fluttery skirt, smiling faintly down at her.

“I . . .” she whispered, then stopped. What was the use? Mrs. Mercer would never believe Ava wasn’t a whore. Not now that she knew about her shows and had made Ava come that many times right in her own master bed.

“Yes, well,” Mrs. Mercer sighed, “I suppose the _experience_ might have surprised you, I can understand that. In any event, Ava, we need to discuss what happens next.” She perched on the edge of the couch, as perfectly in control of herself as ever.

“My husband will be coming home Sunday. By that time I plan to have the early stages of my paperwork in motion, and I don’t expect any drama over that. You won’t hear of it yet. But as things get a little more _heated_ , I intend to use his viewing habits to resolve the procedure to my own satisfaction.” She placed a cool hand on Ava’s knee, confidingly. “And that’s where you come in.”

“Me?” Ava whispered. She had thought—hoped—her role in this was done. She had not even fully understood why Mrs. Mercer needed to use her body in the first place, but she’d been too embarrassed to say so. She felt stupid enough getting caught; no need to say anything further to convince Mrs. Mercer that Ava was a fool.

“Mmm. I haven’t full entirely worked out the _details_ ,” Mrs. Mercer reflected, her hand rubbing Ava’s knee in a way Ava didn’t entirely hate, but didn’t entirely like, either. “It might be necessary to take a few more photos and videos of you here, you know, at times when Mr. Mercer could conceivably have taken them himself, just to really sell the idea. Maybe,” cool, casual, “he might even be persuaded to take them himself. I am sure if you offered, he wouldn’t try too hard to resist.”

Ava stared at Mrs. Mercer in fresh horror. She hadn’t thought she could be further violated today—further shocked—but Mrs. Mercer had proved her wrong.

“You want _me_ to ask him?” she whispered. “To take pictures of me?”

“Well, you could just walk around in your underwear and see if he takes the hint on his own,” Mrs. Mercer said dryly. “Leave your blinds up at night, that sort of thing. We have some time, we’ll see how it goes. But if necessary, yes.” She smiled, so poised. So chilling. “That’s exactly what I expect you to do.”

Ava shook her head, the tears she swore she wouldn’t shed pricking threateningly at the back of her eyes.

“Mrs. Mercer, I _can’t_ , I can’t do that, I can’t really ask—”

Mrs. Mercer slapped her face. Ava sucked in her breath, startled, and pressed her palm to her cheek.

“Of course you can,” said Mrs. Mercer. Measured; calm. “You’re a fucking slut, Ava; a shameless little exhibitionist. Who knows, you might even _enjoy_ it. But whether you enjoy it or not, that is exactly what you will do. Because if you do not . . .”

She’d tell.

If Ava didn’t do whatever Mrs. Mercer wanted to help secure her the divorce, she’d tell everybody what Ava did on her channel, and then everybody would know, and Ava’s actual whole entire life as she knew it would be over. Just like that.

Ava nodded, tearful, miserable, obedient.

“Okay,” she said. It was nothing more than a whisper, and barely even that, but it seemed it was enough. Mrs. Mercer smiled and patted her knee again.

“Good girl,” she said, and rose. “My goodness, look at the time! Your parents may already be back. You had better run along so they don’t wonder where you are.” She stood back to give Ava space to unfold herself from the couch. Walked her to the door, friendly and composed, like she hadn’t just had Ava upstairs naked and screaming in her bed.

She opened the door to the chill of the street and Ava stepped out onto the front step just as her mother’s minivan rolled past. Mom didn’t see her at first, but Alex did. He pointed and waved, then leaped out of the van as soon as it was parked in the drive to wave more enthusiastically still. Ava managed a small, mechanical wave in reply; Mrs. Mercer offered a wave as well when Mom got out to stare, curious, at the two of them on the Mercers’ porch.

“Julie, hello!” Mrs. Mercer trilled, public face, public voice, radiating the kind of poise that would make Ava’s mom stare into the mirror later tonight and wonder if she was doing something wrong, that she couldn’t look like that no matter how she tried.

Ava longed to tell her mother it didn’t matter, that there was nothing Mrs. Mercer had or did that she would want her mother to aspire to. She ached to tell her why. But Ava could never tell.

“—agreed to keep me company,” Mrs. Mercer said. “Visit now and again. It gets so lonely in this big house with my husband away. It will almost be like having a daughter of my very own. I’ll be giving her makeup tips in exchange for her time. Just little tricks and techniques, the sort of thing a girl her age might like to know.”

Mom looked embarrassed, like she knew that was something Ava would like and knew it was not something she was equipped to provide. Ava wanted to hug her. To slap Mrs. Mercer, like Mrs. Mercer had slapped her, for making Mom feel that way. But when Mom said, “Oh, how kind. Ava would like that, I am sure,” Ava could only nod.

“Yes,” she heard herself say. “Thank you, Mrs. Mercer. I appreciate it.”

She started down off the steps, toward Mom, toward Alex, toward tuna casserole and clutter and _home_ , but she could not escape the words that followed her there.

“What are neighbors for? After all,” a smile warmed Mrs. Mercer’s voice in a way that chilled Ava all through, “we girls _must_ stick together. Don’t you agree?”


End file.
